Yellow Terror
by butterflygirly99
Summary: A single bite was all it took. A single bite to take the life out of you. A single bite that could turn a picture perfect town, into a nightmare of orphaned children, unscrupulous thieves, and mass unmarked graves. A single bite was all it took. AU- set during the Yellow Fever of 1793.


**A/N: So I'm here again for the QLFC, with round three. This time, as keeper I have to write an AU about a plague, so I choose the Yellow Fever. So just in case you were wondering, the Yellow Fever was spread through misquote bites and was highly contagious, except for the few who were immune. The basic background of the story is a non-magic AU in which Harry's parents die due to the plague, so he is whisked into a refugee camp (one of the many created during the Yellow Fever). Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_A single bite was all it took._

_A single bite to take the life out of you._

_A single bite that could turn a picture perfect town, into a nightmare of orphaned children, unscrupulous thieves, and mass unmarked graves._

_A single bite was all it took._

* * *

_Here lies Lily and James Potter, victims of the Yellow Fever  
_

_Born January 30th, 1761 and October 27, 1761 _

_Died March 9th, 1793_

_"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death"_

_Bless their souls, and may they forever rest in peace.  
_

* * *

Destroyed.

In simple terms, that was what his life was.

Harry Potter, the definition of a perfect son, left nothing less an alone orphan on the streets of Philadelphia.

An the worst adversity of it all, the poor boy had seen it coming, through his very own eyes.

He had seen the light leave their eyes as the breathed their final breaths.

A terror no soul should have to suffer.

It started with the tiny bite- it was thought of nothing else then a mere misquote bite.

It was then, the head and stomach aches- thought to be a simple cold.

Next, it was the bloody noses and vomiting- the doctor swore it would pass over soon.

Finally, it was the fever and then the eyes- but by then it was too late.

His parents' dead, gaunt eyes would haunt him forever. Their scleras, the merciless, dreaded yellow.

* * *

_Dead, alone, orphaned._ The words echoed in his head, like screams, as he wandered around the makeshift quarantine tent.

He had been "exposed" to the plague. His punishment: to be locked up in a room, like a princess stuck in a tower. Except in his story, there was no happy ending.

The unaffected had fled the city, by the early summer, searching for refuge. With no safety in sight, the "survivors" created their own camp.

Harry, upon reaching the refugee camp, he had been looked down on by all.

Why worry about a penniless orphan, with the chance of carrying the plague with him?

* * *

He has only met one kind soul so far. A doctor. A fellow refugee.

Dr. Albus Dumbledore had decided to take pity on the poor boy, and had snuck in food and water into the quarantine room.

Harry would be forever grateful to the man. He acted as a father figure for the young boy...

Until the plague swept him away too.

Evil took physical form in the Yellow Plague.

It took away everything Harry could ever possibly love.

* * *

Things looked up for Harry after a month or so. The government had collapsed leaving everyone, no better or worse than the person to their left or right.

But the evil was spreading faster. A hundred lives were taken each day.

_More misquotes._

_More evil._

_More corpses._

_More orphans._

_More penniless._

_More victims of the plague, both dead and alive._

* * *

The refugee camps were a pitiful sight. A sight that could bring tears of sympathy to any grown man.

Makeshift buildings, littered the land, just on the outskirts of the abandoned city.

The shrieks of the contaminated, as they were hauled out of the camp, tore through the air, like a clean slice of a knife.

Along with Harry, other orphans of all ages were scattered throughout the camp. All penniless, and poor as dirt.

All sense of humanity was lost at the camp. Every man for himself.

For if the plague spread further, the human race would be doomed.

* * *

Each survivor would beg the the high heavens to end their torture and misery.

They begged for a weapon to fight back.

They begged for a cold front to kill the bugs off.

They begged for a magical miracle.

They begged for some _respite_.

Some would even go as far as to beg for death upon themselves.

But alas, no avail.

* * *

More wails of the sick filled the night sky.

Harry soon began to believe their were more dead bodies, then stars in the sky.

Images of his parents flashed around him. Everywhere he went, he would be reminded of what he had lost to the plague.

A slow moving pictures of his family, prior to the disease, began floating away from his mind.

Only to be replaced with the quick, flashing images of the sickly yellow of their eyes.

The image would soon become seared into his brain.

Every so-called "survivor" that would become contaminated by the plague, served as a reminder.

A reminder that no one was immune to the curse.

They were all prophesied to die eventually.

They questioned: was the plague a horrid reminder of our mortality?

Or that no living soul could escape fate?

* * *

Evil laughed mercilessly as the unmarked graves count, continued to grow.

And Harry began to accept that he was to live in the sick tragedy that he called life.

The pounding of living heartbeats continued to lessen.

Soon, only the completely immune would be left.

Desolate and isolated, a silent hum began to fill the almost empty refugee camp.

Winter would soon arrive as would a new battle. The cold.

* * *

As luck would have it, the chilly winter air arrived a month early.

Crisp, cool snow replaced the scorching, death filled summer.

Yet as the snow thickened, the chilly blanket surrounding them, just felt like another curse inflicted upon them.

The only good to come out of the cold- the death of the plague had begun.

The weapon they had begged for had finally arrived.

The venomous bugs finally began to die out, but in an exceedingly, rather painfully slow manner.

Every weapon has it cost, as did their weapon.

The cost? More death.

The immune could survive the plague, but the winter was a challenge they were yet to conquer.

Their clothes, were not even fit to be worn any longer, much less survive a blizzard.

* * *

In comparison to prior winters, the winter of 1793 was rather mild.

Cold enough to dissolve the plague, yet not as frigid as previous winters.

Harry had gotten _his_ second chance.

Undeniably, he had been to hell and back.

_Cursed._

_Orphaned._

_Quarantined._

_Starved._

_Isolated._

_Frozen._

But he survived death.

Perhaps he had even managed to cheat it...

* * *

**A/N: Wow that was a lot more intense that I thought. So please leave a review, I'd love to hear what you think! **

**QLFC Info:**

**Title: Yellow Terror**

**Author: butterflygirly99**

**Rating: K+**

**QLFC Position: keeper**

**Word count: 1,032**


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